


future memories.

by 1roomdisco



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, If you want - Freeform, Prequel, Teen Angst, homeroom/english teacher jae is only mentioned lolo, music teacher!wonpil - senior year!sungjin das right, read a/n for more info, sungjin got scouted by jyp at busan and moved to seoul, wonpil just trying to be a good and cool teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1roomdisco/pseuds/1roomdisco
Summary: wonpil runs to one of his students lighting up a cigarette just outside the convenience store.





	future memories.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taekwoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taekwoons/gifts).



>   
> \- if you’re familiar with my work you’ll get how i love foreshadowing.
> 
> \- this one, too, is a spin-off for a yet to be written, very ambitious sungpil fic.
> 
> \- treat this as an easier read for the upcoming doom.
> 
> \- click the links they're worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

monday means organizing the week’s worth of work and wonpil finds himself in a routine of working overtime. on mondays, he will be the last ones alongside with jaehyung-ssaem to leave, the school’s hallways are dark and the night guard ahjusshis are all ready with their hot coffee to do the rounds. he and jaehyung-ssaem will take the same bus, but parting ways at the subway station. the english teacher lives on the other side of seoul gangseo, while wonpil only needs to walk for about twenty minutes to reach his apartment complex. tonight, he decides to stop by the larger convenience store near the dunkin donut’s to buy pre-cooked chicken curry because he forgot to do grocery shopping last weekend after visiting his parents back in incheon.

today, wonpil runs to one of his students lighting up a cigarette just outside the convenience store; his broad back that’s dressed in oversized grey hoodie is hunched against the cold october wind. it’s park sungjin from class 3-1, a transfer student from busan who won the national high school band competition before he moved to seoul by himself because he got scouted by JYP; a generally good kid who plays rhythm guitar and can hold high notes with ease and never joins in whenever his classmates—boys and girls alike—start their harmless teasing towards their beloved, cutest wonpiri-ssaem.

sungjin’s breath hitches when their eyes meet, and his smile is hopeless when wonpil tuts his tongue playfully.

“park sungjin,” wonpil says, shaking his head, smiling back to the teen in a hopefully not intimidating fashion. “what do we have here?” he nods towards the cancer stick, tips his gaze to the ground, and sungjin obediently puts it off using his battered nike.

“i’m sorry, sonsaengnim.” sungjin mumbles, his usually loud satoori is replaced by an ordinary seoulite accent.

wonpil waves a dismissive hand, then asks, “but what are you doing such late at night? did your homework already?” he was once a high schooler too, senior year was indeed stressful even back then, ten years ago. he wants to understand that whatever reason sungjin has for smoking on a late monday night should be logical, at least for an eighteen year old who’s generally a good kid like him.

sungjin sighs, shrugging, running one bigbigbig hand through his trendy black hair. it’s got fringe that can be pushed back for a sleek, bad boy look, and tapered on the sides. right now sungjin’s hair is down, parted in 60:40 ratios, and wonpil realizes he’s got a piercing hole on his left ear that’s absence of any flashy jewelry.

“i was just looking for fresh air,” sungjin sniffs, gnawing at his bottom lip. “i’m sorry, wonpil-ssaem.”

“it’s fine,” wonpil reaches to pat sungjin’s arm and sungjin is gulping, clearly nervous. “but if you have your pack with you, you have to give it to sonsaengnim.”

sungjin grimaces, his big nose is scrunching in apparent shame. “i only got the lighter, left the pack back at my place.” wonpil hums, not questioning sungjin’s choice of words. _my place._ of course. busan is his home. still, it’s kinda weird, although wonpil is not going to dwell on such trivial matter.

alas, sungjin treats his silence like any caught high school student would; he shrinks smaller on his feet.

“i’m not… are you going to give me points, wonpil-ssaem?”

“nooooo, don’t worry about it. but from now on sonsaengnim will keep an eye on you.” wonpil lets out a giggle, trying his best to lighten up the mood. jaehyung-ssaem is sungjin’s homeroom teacher and sometimes he talks about his certain student who’s struggling to fit in even after a couple of months adjusting to seoul and its ostentatious dynamics, that includes how sungjin seems to be detached from his classmates and his falling grades. the last thing wonpil wants is to have sungjin get even more stressed out by his unfortunate discovering of his dubious pastime; staying up late without adult supervision, smoking and probably not doing his homework.

“hey, have you had dinner?” wonpil asks again, and it’s easy to convince sungjin to pick whatever pre-cooked meal available back at the convenience store, spouting nonsense about a payback since _sonsaengnim is going to play blind about_ this—the ‘this’ being said with emphasis that makes sungjin laugh, loud and open, and comments _that’s blackmailing_ and wonpil shushes him, blushing. he’ll get there, okay, it’s only his first year as a music teacher in one of the most prestigious high schools in whole seoul area. he promises he will be the coolest teacher ever for his students!

“thank you,” sungjin says when they’re seated at the window seats inside the warm convenience store, overlooking the quiet housing complex. “i’ll eat well.” he chose ham sandwich and plain flavored yoghurt, and [he smells like green tea](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11306406/chapters/26736300) when wonpil hops onto the stool next to him.

“just tell sonsaengnim if you want some more,” wonpil answers, and happily digs in his own heated chicken curry.

they don’t talk for the first few minutes. sungjin seems content with ignoring wonpil, munching like he’s in a hurry. but wonpil can’t not voice out his wonder when he notices sungjin likes to tear a small piece of the ham sandwich then dipping it to the plain flavored yoghurt, and then washing it away with two spoonsful of said yoghurt, and repeat. it’s cute, though wonpil can’t imagine how the combination tastes like.

“it tastes amazing,” sungjin smiles, totally reading wonpil’s mind. “wanna try?”

“no, i’m good,” wonpil huffs, and blurts out, “can sonsaengnim ask something?”

“of course.” sungjin blinks, and maybe it’s wonpil being paranoid because despite his permission, sungjin looks like he’s putting up a wall again.

“what’s it like? being a trainee at an idol company?” but wonpil asks anyway, they have to start somewhere and sungjin looks like the type who’s not really into filler, boring small talks. he looks like he needs intellectual stimulation, and wonpil is trying his best, remember?

“eh,” sungjin shrugs, “it’s okay.”

“aww, come on.” wonpil elbows sungjin’s side, shifting his body so he’s facing him. if the topic is not stimulating sungjin’s intelligence enough, then wonpil will gladly change it, but for now he’s curious.

sungjin needs a couple of heartbeats before answering with a chuckle, “it’s tiring.” he licks his thumb after the last bite and when he glances at wonpil, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “but it’s just the beginning.”

upon thisclose, wonpil is taken aback by sungjin’s pretty, pretty eyes. so round, with natural double eyelids and long lashes. they’re dark in color, like the chocolate brownie wonpil bought for dessert.

“sonsaengnim hope you will endure in order to prosper,” wonpil smiles, “everyday, you’re getting closer to your dream.”

sungjin makes a sound, deep from his chest, that’s akin to a mocking agreement only teenager could easily, exclusively convey. it makes wonpil sad, somehow. he passed the phase almost a decade ago, and if this was what his parents and older sister felt like back then, ugh, he’s finally on their position where they only wanted the best for him only to have him rebuking the affection.

“aw, don’t make that face!” wonpil pouts, flicking a random spot at sungjin’s slumped shoulders. “you’re making sonsaengnim sad.”

“sorry,” sungjin says, dark eyes glinting, sharp and way too _knowing_ for an eighteen year old. he grins to their reflections on the glass window. “what are we going to learn this week, wonpil-ssaem?”

“piano 101.” wonpil finishes his dinner and clasps his hands to thank whoever invented pre-cooked chicken curry. he opens his pink tupperware water bottle, and asks, “do you play?”

“i can only play one song without a glitch.” sungjin nods, resting his chin on his left palm, squishing his cheek that’s still adorned by leftover baby fat. “it’s ‘in my fading memory’ by park jiyoon. old song.”

“oh? i don’t think i know that one.” wonpil reaches into the front pocket of his black dress pants, unlocking his phone. “’in my fading memory’?” he types on the naver search bar. “it was released in 2009, it’s not an old song!”

“well, it is for me, sonsaengnim.” sungjin laughs. “i was only ten. you were already what, thirty?”

“eyyy…” wonpil huffs, narrowing his eyes in faux disapproval.

“how old are you, wonpil-ssaem?”

“believe it or not, sonsaengnim is twenty eight and already served in the police unit even before i got my master’s degree!”

“you’re really old, tho.”

“i’m really, _really_ not.”

sungjin’s laugh is rumbling in wonpil’s ears, and wonpil gets the chill when the first piano note hits. it’s a slow tempo song and park jiyoon’s fragile voice is crooning about lovers who didn’t understand that words could be their undoing—that not even a piece of him could ever be recovered in her fading memory, because even those memories hurt her.

when sungjin sings the last line with his own vocal color, wonpil thinks about what kind of heartbreaking relationship a kid like him could have had that makes him sound like he’s been there.

 

[ _until i can find my heart_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGPZkmiacyg)

[ _please stay with me longer_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGPZkmiacyg)

 

“you should definitely play this on wednesday,” wonpil says instead, giving sungjin a thumbs up, however lame that gesture is, because at least sungjin is smiling.

“can i have ice cream, wonpil-ssaem?”

“of course! ice cream is good.” wonpil claps like a seal, overjoyed by the random cuteness. he loves it when his students act their age!

“just sit here, sonsaengnim will buy the best for you.”

“i don’t like fruity ice cream.”

“gotcha, young man.”

a bar of matcha green tea häagen-dazs sounds perfect for sungjin, so wonpil takes one, and a classic red bean paste samanco for himself. sungjin thanks him, his boyish grin is making an appearance in front of the sweet treat. wonpil nods, satisfied, and puts his chocolate brownie in his satchel.

“can i ask you a question, wonpil-ssaem?”

“sure thing.”

“how was it serving at the police unit?”

oh. yeay! sungjin is asking him questions about adulthood! this is totally the example of intellectual stimulation wonpil had in mind!

“you see, sonsaengnim’s eyes are a little bit crossed,” wonpil begins his story, carefully selecting only the interesting parts right from the beginning.

sungjin turns his head, stares at wonpil’s eyes, and nods, smiles, blinks, telling wonpil to continue as he’s busy sucking, not biting, his matcha green tea ice cream. he’s really cute.

“see? right, so actually i got exempted from any active duty. at the police unit, i help with the paperwork administration. i got assigned at seoul station to assist commuters twice a week at the rush hour. easy stuff.”

“that’s it?” sungjin raises his eyebrows. “did you get weekend breaks?”

“umm…” wonpil tilts his head, puffing his cheeks. “no, sonsaengnim worked in shifts. i remember i worked in four and two sequence, four days of work, two days off. sometimes i had to cover for a friend who got sick. oh! sonsaengnim and a group of fellas went to orphanages and kindergartens as a representative. we played with the kids and held a theatrical explanation about our job.”

sungjin has a small smile that is always a constant presence on his handsome face.

“do you have a picture of yourself in police uniform, wonpil-ssaem?”

“whaaaaaaat!” wonpil giggles, slapping sungjin’s shoulders for such random request and apologizing when sungjin has the audacity to look like he’s hurting him by widening his pretty, pretty eyes.

“alright, wait.” wonpil huffs, scrolling through the 902 photos in his gallery. he can’t find the desired one because it’s been years ago and this is a new phone. right. he switches to instagram and finds about a dozen there, dated from way back in 2008 and 2009. ha. how come he really didn’t know ‘in my fading memory’ that was released in 2009?

“here,” wonpil shifts closer to have sungjin take a look on his phone, “this is me in the middle.” he points to himself, arms in arms with good friends, posing right in front of seoul gangseo police station on his first day.

“this is _you?_ ” sungjin quips, laughing because of the shock. he takes the phone, gently, his hand dwarfing wonpil’s—and bringing it up to level with his widened eyes.

“i knooooow, sonsaengnim looked so weird, huh?” wonpil had to have crewcut and he had a vow now that he served for his country he’s so not going to cut his hair that short ever again!

sungjin shakes his head, eyes never leaving the screen. “no, ssaem, i’m sorry i didn’t mean it like that—it’s just… you were so young when you served.”

wonpil takes a big bite of his ice cream. “yes, fresh out of high school.”

“then you got into uni, graduated, and straight to grad school?”

“correct.”

“that’s really nice.”

wonpil agrees. his life is already planned out, sort of.

“what would you like to study in uni?”

sungjin snorts, softly, almost inaudibly, like he doesn’t want to insult wonpil’s cluelessness. he puts the phone back to the table, and licks his bottom lip.

“don’t even think i will go to uni at all, sonsaengnim.”

“why not?”

“i have to endure to get closer to my dream, right?”

ah, such cruel words that sungjin takes and spits right off wonpil’s mouth. it’s amazing how words could take an ugly turn when they’re said in split second anger.

sungjin sniffs, probably realizing how harsh his comeback was, and when he’s about to redeem himself, wonpil beats him to it because he’s not at fault. he doesn’t need to apologize.

“eyyy, you still can go! maybe not right now,” wonpil pokes sungjin’s right cheek, “but it’ll still be just as fun, whenever you decide to go! or you can take online classes, don’t underestimate our renewed education system!”

sungjin scoffs, but there’s no malice in it. he takes a quick glance at wonpil’s phone and asks,

“can i follow your instagram?”

“aw, of course! i’ll follow you back,” wonpil squeals, “what’s your username?” sungjin recites @lolsungjin, and it’s wonpil’s turn to gasp. “wow, you have ten thousand followers?!”

“this face was on national tv, sonsaengnim, don’t you forget that.”

wonpil tuts, complaining about smug teenager whose nose might fall off for his excessive prince disease and sungjin bursts out laughing, louder than before, and then he asks about what wonpil studied to become a music teacher— _why_ , did you want to become a teacher, sonsaengnim?

it’s a long story. when he was little, because his parents were busy with their office jobs, wonpil and his older sister spent a lot of time with their mom’s mother, someone who’s remembered fondly for her delicious cooking and her singing. grandma was tiny, yet she always carried wonpil on her back while holding tight to his older sister’s hand as they took an evening stroll at the park near their house and stopped by the convenience store to buy ice creams or gummy worms. grandma taught them to always be kind to each other, and she was a retired teacher who had a special method to teach them multiplication tables and the history of the great king sejong. that, and wonpil had a really, really beautiful teacher when he was in first grade of primary school, so beautiful and perfect she inspired him to be teacher for the greater part of his primary school years, because he wanted to be a dj when he got into middle school, then a veterinarian when he visited coex aquarium, and finally back to being a teacher when he served in the police unit.

wonpil loves kids. he loves helping them study, because that way, he’ll never stop learning either. he can’t remember ever being bored with what he does everyday, and sungjin listens to his story so well, his whole body going liquid as the time ticks, and he says, when wonpil takes a second too long pause,

“i’m… i’m really sorry to say this, sonsaengnim, but you’re really, really, _really_ cute.”

and when wonpil just giggles, because he _knows_ he’s cute and sungjin isn’t his first student to say so, sungjin gets even more _bewildered_.

“this brat. don’t look so disgusted!” wonpil slaps sungjin’s solid bicep, and sungjin yells out something about child abuse. “hey! shush! oh my gosh!” wonpil blushes, covering his mouth with hands, and sungjin looks the happiest ever since wonpil first asked him to come to the front of the class to try hitting the high note from the hit song ‘nayana’ of the very popular idol survival show, at the beginning of the new semester.

(sungjin did, easily.)

“how about you? sonsaengnim doesn’t even have words to describe your voice.” wonpil asks after he manages to calm down. he realizes sungjin has eaten all of his ice cream. “do you want mineral water?”

“it’s okay, ssaem,” sungjin shakes his head, putting the wooden stick into the ice cream box. “thank you. my dad enrolled me in a singing lesson, since i picked up words easily from children songs if compared to having me watch educational cartoons or my mom reading a book for me.”

wonpil hums, crossing his arms and legs for a better sitting position.

“then i got into the church choir when i was in third grade. i discovered coldplay and fall out boy when i was in sixth grade, [and a year later i met junghwan.](https://marks-hyung.tumblr.com/post/165435506139/im-like-cri-no-one-ever-told-me-that-my-ult-bro)”

wonpil tilts his head. “junghwan?” and then something shifts in the air as sungjin frowns, looks down to his battered nike, and mouthing a curse word that’s hard to miss with how frustrated he appears to be with tensed jaw and clenched fists.

ah.

“right, don’t worry about it,” wonpil uncrosses his arms to clasp his hands. he wants to pat sungjin’s back but he’s still not sure if he can do that, and he’s just about to break the tension by mentioning the time—11:29 pm, jesus—when sungjin asks, his tone ice cold and so, so tired,

“do you ever think that the world is unfair, sonsaengnim?”

wonpil has to pause. he’s not a homeroom teacher. he’s not ready for this. sure, he wants sungjin to talk to him, that’s why he’s been trying his best to tune in the same intellectual frequency with him, but he should be starting _small_ , right? maybe with a student who needs help revising their music history from medieval europe homework—not with a certain park sungjin who can’t calm his storm anymore.

wonpil flinches when sungjin looks up to him with a misplaced glare, as if the boy could sense his weakness.

“sometimes,” wonpil whispers, feeling genuinely disheartened. he wants to help, but he’s not emotionally ready yet to meet with what sungjin is going to confide. “i’m so sorry.”

if he ever will, that is, because the boy’s smile devoid of any mirth.

“i know, wonpil-ssaem,” he says, like he’s thoroughly amused by wonpil’s discomfort, “me too. junghwan is my best friend. we were in the band together.”

it was on the news. when sungjin and his band, pink sweater, won first place on the national high school band competition, all six members got scouted by jyp but only sungjin and junghwan passed the audition. junghwan, wonpil recalls, is the main vocalist; a kid with thick glasses who chose to finish high school in busan, therefore letting go an opportunity to be a trainee at jyp alongside sungjin and the matter lies depending on how you look at it.

“is he alright?” wonpil asks with a small voice, not wanting to spook sungjin further.

“he’s fine.” sungjin answers without missing a beat, and adds, “he’s going to visit me this weekend with the others.”

the aftertaste of sweet red bean paste ice cream is bitter on wonpil’s tongue.

“that’s great. i’m sure you guys will have fun.” he doesn’t sound like he believes what he says. “if you need a chaperone, sonsaengnim will—“

“i don’t know how to face them.” sungjin cuts off wonpil’s nonsense, empty smile and hollowed eyes are haunting his handsome face. “i don’t know if meeting them is a good idea at all. we—we all still chat on kakaotalk, a few hours ago junghwan sent me a group selca when they went to watch a movie together. but i wasn’t there with them, sonsaengnim, i was in a room that i shared with two other trainees i don’t give a fuck about. i don’t know if i can face them like this, sonsaengnim, i don’t know why it seemed like a good idea at that time.”

the cussing is shocking, but the way wonpil looks at it, it’s either unfair for sungjin who lost his best friends or is it unfair for those he left behind? leaving home at such young age to be a trainee at an idol company, getting one step closer to his dream everyday is one thing, but at what cost? when wonpil was eighteen, he didn’t have to worry about being separated hundreds miles away from his family and best friends or having to share a room with two strangers while questioning himself whether it’s the right thing to do or not. when wonpil was eighteen, without a care to the real world, he went on cute dates and volunteered at the animal shelter, not looking for _fresh air_ by smoking at a 24-hour convenience store.

hell, at twenty eight, wonpil hasn’t had the taste of such hardship! any consolation coming from him won’t do sungjin any good.

“i’m sorry,” wonpil repeats his useless feeling, his hands are damp with sweat. it’s not that he regrets getting involved with a certain student who’s struggling to fit in even after a couple of months adjusting to seoul and its ostentatious dynamics, although he’s doing this mostly to appease his naïve, idealistic view of becoming a good teacher, it’s just.

he can’t remember the last time he gets this _sad_ over someone else that’s not his grandma, and it was a long time ago when she passed away in her sleep. sungjin is pretty much alive, he’s fuming with _anger_ , in fact, and he’s exhaling a deep, shaky breath through his mouth, mimicking wonpil as he repeats,

“i know, sonsaengnim. me too.”

“you can—“ wonpil chokes, and then whimpers, “y-you can always talk to me. when it gets hard, when you think everything is too much. when you miss them, sungjin-ah, y-you can always talk to me.”

sungjin grunts, looking away, but what he does is showing on the glass window anyway; he’s wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his oversized grey hoodie, frowns to the blank white wall, and asks their reflections,

“why are you crying, sonsaengnim?”

wonpil stares to his own reflection and sees the tears flowing freely on his cheeks, sees the way sungjin reaches a tentative arm and he closes his eyes when sungjin, gently, despite the size of his hand, cleaning his face using the paw of his sleeve’s hoodie; his knuckles are cold on wonpil’s skin and he doesn’t smell like nicotine whatsoever. the green tea wafting off the cotton material is calming wonpil, and so does the gentle hand on his shoulder, moving him to a better position for sungjin to finish his job. their knees are touching now, and wonpil, still with his eyes closed tight, tugs at the drawstring of sungjin’s hoodie, clutching it until sungjin clears his throat.

neither says anything. wonpil looks up to find sungjin staring at him with soft, soft eyes, still dark and pretty but no longer driven wild with selfish aversion. no. sungjin looks like he’s giving up.

he asks again, “hmm? why are you crying, sonsaengnim?”

wonpil bites his bottom lip to prevent himself from squealing. he’s the adult here. a very inexperienced, naïve one, but still. he’s supposed to be the one who protects the kid. a wave of determination is entering his conscience. it’s never too late to try.

“because you’re making sonsaengnim sad,” wonpil pouts. he takes the hand that sungjin used to wipe his tears away, and squeezes it. “you have to promise that you will never, never ever make me sad again.”

“what’s in it for me?” sungjin turns his palm so now their fingers are interlinked. the size difference is quite embarrassing, but it’s not like wonpil can grow taller or bigger anymore, knowing his age.

“hey!” wonpil huffs, straightening his spine in order to make himself look more serious. “listen to your sonsaengnim!”

“sorry,” sungjin chuckles and pulls their hands to rest them on top of his left knee. “i’m listening.”

“promise that you will tell me how you feel everyday on kakaotalk, we’ll exchange phone numbers and kakaotalk ids later,” wonpil babbles, “treat me like an online diary! one that will nag at you if you don’t tell me how’s your day going. you can just write _ah, today is so hot i had bibimbap for lunch_ or _i wish i could sleep for ten hours_ , whatever!”

sungjin snorts.

wonpil glares, pretends to pinch him, and sungjin mimes zipping up his mouth and nods.

“if you need help with anything, just tell me! but please, _pleeeaaase_ remember sonsaengnim is not doing this out of pity.”

“then what is it?”

“nothing, sungjin-ah, it’s my job as a teacher to try to help you. i want you to enjoy your life, because you only have this one, and this is yours alone.”

that line actually prompts sungjin to look like he’s being slapped. his pretty, pretty eyes are widened and his mouth is open slightly. wonpil smiles

“it will be hard,” he nods, pursing his lips, “either people or circumstance will test you, or you yourself will. but remember that you only need to push through, to think of the bigger picture ahead. look back and write in a special book what made you like the thing you’re doing right now. feel the joy, sungjin-ah, pain is just temporary, but glory is forever.”

“’a special book’,” sungjin rubs his thumb against wonpil’s palm, “a _diary_ , you mean?” and he’s still got the teenager’s gut to mock wonpil’s timeless advice!

“whatever.” wonpil rolls his eyes, and sungjin is following him, laughing when wonpil pinches his solid bicep.

“and try to quit smoking, it’s not good for your lungs. you have to live forever, if you can, the world needs to listen to your voice, sungjin-ah.” wonpil is pleading, but he doesn’t care. “aww, now look who’s blushing!”

“fine,” sungjin rolls his eyes again, “i will bother you when i feel like smoking.”

“you better.”

“you’re weird, wonpil-ssaem.”

“i know, young man.”

“just a heads up, but i really like fried chicken.”

“consider it done.”

sungjin smiles, boyish and giddy and cute, and wonpil can’t help but to coo at him. he pushes sungjin’s hand and pretends to be disgusted by their skinship he _initiated_ , wiping his hand on his black dress pants. sungjin laughs, and then whines that it’s raining.

it is. just a light shower, but still. it’s getting colder.

the clock strikes midnight, and a new flock of people are entering the convenience store, grumpy employees and high on caffeine college students. wonpil doesn’t bring any umbrella and buys a cheap, transparent one.

“you don’t have an umbrella with you, do you?” he asks sungjin, who’s got his hands on the pockets of his frayed, ripped jeans. if wonpil wasn’t a cool teacher, he would have made a fuss.

sungjin shrugs. “i’ll just wait until the rain stops. the apartment is like, only three minutes walk from here.”

“you need your sleep to get taller,” wonpil opens the umbrella and hooks his arm to sungjin’s. “come on, lead the way.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
